


The Pomegranate

by aislingdoheanta



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Greek Mythology - Freeform, Ian as Persephone, M/M, Mickey as Hades, mythology AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1607567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aislingdoheanta/pseuds/aislingdoheanta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey the god of the Underworld and has fallen in love with Ian, the god of vegetation. </p><p>Hades/Persephone myth fusion (AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pomegranate

**Author's Note:**

> This a retelling of the Hades/Persephone myth thanks to [adorableusername.](http://adorableusername.tumblr.com/) She posted about wanting a Hades/Persephone fic over on tumblr and this is what was produced. I actually wrote two versions, one that’s more close to the myth and time and the other that’s a modern type of retelling. I chose to post this one first for those who might not have ever heard this myth. I choose the less violent story because it’s how I’ve always read it.
> 
> Written for the Fic a Day in May thing over on tumblr.

Mickey had known it was going to end like this. He had known he was heading down a destructive path the moment he laid eyes upon the fire-haired god.

After all, how could it not?

Mickey was the ruler of the Underworld, the god of the dead. He had never been meant for love or companionship.

It hadn’t stopped him from trying.

He had first set his eyes on the god years ago. It had been completely by happenstance. The god had been wandering around and Mickey just happened to be there. The god hadn’t so much as looked Mickey’s way, but Mickey had seen him. 

He had been tall and thin, but with orange hair that reminded him of summer and spring and everything he missed living in the Underworld. And then the god had smiled a loopy adorable grin that seemed to melt Mickey’s heart. It was kindness, care, and love captured in a mouth, on a face.

That god had enraptured Mickey’s entire mind for the following months. And if the god of the Underworld started purposely wandering around on Earth in hopes of catching sight of the god, then that was his own damn business.

Mickey had been—not happy and not exactly content, but he had been rather fine with this arrangement. He would travel to the world above and wander around until he found the god. He would never say anything or attempt to break words, but just the sight of him awoke something powerful in Mickey’s very being.

Then everything changed when the god had decided to speak to him. He had walked beside Mickey, chatting away about the color of the trees and the scent of the air. Mickey had just let him talk, too unsure of himself to say anything in return.

“Who are you?” The god had asked when Mickey had told him he had to leave.

“No one,” Mickey responded quietly. He wasn’t. His place was forever beneath the ground, surrounded by the souls of the dead.

“I’m Ian,” he had said, his hand grasping Mickey’s elbow. “Next time you pass through, you should come find me.”

Mickey hadn’t gone back. He couldn’t risk it. Ian, as it turned out, reminded Mickey of all the bright and liveliness of the world above because he was Demeter’s son. It was his will that gave life to the earth with every passing season.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting a chance to speak with him, to _be_ with him. He hoped that if he could get the god down here, perhaps he could convince him to stay.

It had been foolish and fueled more by a blind passion than any sense of reason. But Mickey began his attempts.

He needed to happen upon Ian when he was alone—his mother was overbearing and very protective of those she allowed near her son. So Mickey came up with the plan of luring Ian directly to the gates of the Underworld.

He littered the ground with different types of flowers that Ian was drawn to. They led directly to the old, iron gates that only Mickey and the chosen few could see. However, only Hermes actually used them. Everyone else couldn’t seem to force themselves to walk towards the gates, let alone through them.

But not Ian. He immediately pushed the gates open and came directly to where Mickey had been pacing—waiting for him.

“You?” Ian had asked. It wasn’t accusatory, not yet.

“Yeah.”

Ian had smiled and looked around, not minding the gentle thrum of the river Styx or the quiet calls of the souls passing through. “What is this place?” 

“The Underworld.” _The fuck else would it be_ had just barely been stopped before falling out of his mouth as well.

“So that makes you the god of the Underworld?” Ian asked him moving closer. Mickey eyes followed the god as his hand trailed over Mickey’s chest.

There hadn’t been much talking after that. It was an attack of lips and hands and _heat_ that Mickey was surprised hadn’t fused them together. Ian confessed that he had been watching Mickey the entire time that Mickey had been watching him. That he had been thinking of him, trying to find out anything more about him since the day they talked.

Mickey had cut him off with, “You wanna chit chat more or you wanna get on me?”

There were no more words after that.

Not until later when Ian was dressing and asking Mickey why he was here. “I’m not your prisoner, am I?” he had asked throwing a smirk over his shoulder.

“Not yet,” Mickey retorted. Looking at Ian, seeing him here was alarming. He had felt off-balance, like he was standing on sand and the tide was threateningly close. He had told Ian he had to go and bolted out of the room. 

It hadn’t been until later that Mickey realized why he felt so strange. Ian had made him feel hope for the first time.

He began studiously ignoring Ian’s attempts at communication, rebuffed all attempts at affection from the man, and reinforced a strictly no touching except for sex policy.

Mickey had to protect himself somehow.

But his defenses were no match for Ian’s quiet assault, for his gentle understanding. The way the other man wormed his way into Mickey’s heart, his mind, until every thought was consumed with thoughts of Ian: what he was doing, what he was thinking, if he was happy.

He still doesn’t remember exactly when it happened, but one night he found himself not rushing away from Ian. He found himself staying with him, staying in his arms. And he was comfortable. He was happy. 

It terrified him.

But somehow, Ian’s presence calmed that fear. It made him think that, while it was terrifying to let someone in, to allow someone to see all of him, all the parts that Mickey has been careful to hide, maybe it was only frightening with those who don’t care for you. 

Ian did care for him. He told him so. With every kiss, every touch, every word he breathed out. It was as though everything Ian did was somehow meant as reassurance for Mickey that Ian loved him, cared for him. Mickey tried to follow Ian’s example since the words wouldn’t form on Mickey’s tongue. 

“I’d have you stand by my side,” Mickey had said into the dark one night. “If you would stay, I’d have you my equal.” The words had been whispered into Ian’s orange head and Mickey hadn’t been sure Ian was even awake to hear them. 

He had discovered it hadn’t mattered. The words were still true. He wanted Ian. He _loved_ Ian and wanted him to stay with him. He wanted Ian to _want_ to stay with him, to continue loving him. Mickey felt like his entire life had been wasted up until this point for what he had been made to do was love Ian, to show him that he was treasured above everything else. 

But Fate was a tricky mistress and tended to spin the wheel of misfortune whenever Mickey was involved.

They arrived with Hermes, a small group to take Ian back— _home_. They had said home. They had screamed and shouted at Mickey, calling him a monster for abducting the naïve Ian. They had told him they’d never allow him above the ground again. That he would rot with his souls, alone, for all eternity. 

Mickey had been quiet. He wanted to fight, he wanted more than anything to tell them they were wrong. To tell them that he _loved_ Ian and would never do anything to hurt him. But the words caught in his throat.

One of them had gone to find Ian. Ian’s green eyes had met Mickey’s and there was pain and confusion. Mickey couldn’t tell if it was directed at Mickey because of who Mickey was or because of what his family was doing to him. Mickey had looked away. 

Mickey left them, closing the door behind him. He couldn’t watch Ian, the only light in his darkness, walk away from him. He stood in his office, ignoring the fruit had placed on a tray earlier. He wasn’t hungry anymore. He wanted to scream and rage and cry at how unfair the fates were for allowing him the chance to know Ian, to love Ian, to _be_ loved by Ian, only to take him away. 

The door had slammed open, Ian’s chest heavy and his eyes wild. “So that’s it?”

Mickey hadn’t been able to meet his eyes.

“You’re just going to let them take me away, without a fucking word?” Ian reached for him, grabbing his arms. “You love me, Mick. Why is that so fucking hard for you to say?”

Mickey had glared at him, but it softened when he saw Ian’s face. “Not everyone gets to blurt out how they fucking feel every minute.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Ian yelled.

“Why are you here?” Mickey asked quietly, at war with himself at whether to push Ian away or move closer in case it was the last time he was with the other god. 

“To ask what you want from me,” Ian asked, his hands falling to grasp Mickey’s own.

Mickey looked down, unable to meet the gaze of the other man.

“They say that I have to go back. That I can’t stay here,” Ian said softly.

“That all they say?” Mickey asked, knowing the types of horrible things they must have told Ian about him.

“They told me about you,” Ian admitted. “About the type of god they think you are.”

Mickey glanced up at him. “They?”

“Come on, Mick. Don’t tell me you don’t know that I know you. I’ve _seen_ you, the real you.”

“So what, you just came to say goodbye?” Mickey asked. “I’d rather you have just left.”

Ian groaned and dropped Mickey’s hands. “I was coming to see if there was truth to what they said about eating in the Underworld. I have to go back, Mick, at least for a little while. But I’d like to come back here.” Ian looked at him and Mickey felt as though his heart was beating within Ian’s chest. “Come back to you.”

Mickey blinked and felt anger boiling beneath the surface. He was angry at them for showing up and taking Ian away. He was angry at Ian for making him love him. But mostly he was angry at himself for allowing Ian to get so close.

“What are you expecting, huh? That I’ll chase after you like some bitch, begging you to come back to me?” Mickey snapped. “I got other shit to do with my time.” 

Ian smiled sadly. “I wasn’t expecting you to do anything other than what you’re doing right now.”

He turned away from Mickey and headed to the door.

“Don’t.” Mickey felt the word tumble out of his chest as Ian’s hand stilled on the door handle.

He turned around. “Don’t what?”

And in that moment, in that gaze, it was so easy for Mickey to see everything Ian had wanted him to see. He could see Ian never leaving, who gives a shit about the people of the world anyway? He could see Ian returning to him every few months, staying with him, continuing to love him.

But he couldn’t get himself to say any of those things. All that could come out was a choked off, “Just…”

Mickey had looked away, unable to really watch Ian walk away. After a few seconds of hesitation, Ian had opened the door and shut it behind him. He hadn’t even slammed it. It would have been easier for Mickey to deal with if Ian had been angry. But he hadn’t. Ian had been disappointed, heartbroken even, and that was so much worse than Mickey had been expecting.

It was still as painful as an open wound two months later.

Mickey hadn’t gone above since Ian left. He hadn’t been able to face the sun and the _joy_ that seemed to seep out of every person in the world.

Mickey deserved this darkness, this torment because he hadn’t been able to tell the only person who mattered that he had mattered more than anything else. He hadn’t been able to tell Ian that he cared about him and his happiness more than anything else. That he loved him.

“Mickey.”

Mickey’s head whipped up. The familiar voice was like a dagger to his heart. Ian stood before him, smiling softly at him in a way that Mickey never thought he’d ever see directed at him.

“What are you doing here?”

Ian tossed him a pomegranate. No, it was a partially eaten pomegranate.

“I don’t understand.”

Ian laughed. “I told you I wanted to come back.”

“You ate this? Down here?” Mickey had asked, unable to look away from the fruit. He wondered why it hadn’t rotted until he remembered exactly what god Ian was.

“Yeah.” Ian walked toward him. “I asked you what you wanted, and you told me. I couldn’t just leave you. Not forever. I know you don’t like when I talk about my feelings, but I found the one person who actually saw me for _me_ and not for what I can do for them.” 

Ian took the fruit from Mickey’s hand and dropped it on the ground. “Why would I willingly give that up?”

Mickey surged forward, capturing Ian’s mouth with his own. One hand on the back of Ian’s neck to pull him closer, the other hesitantly resting on Ian’s hip and it felt like the world was on fire. Mickey didn’t care. The entire world could have been burning down around them but with Ian’s arm around him, holding him against him, and his mouth on his, nothing mattered.

Nothing except this, _them._ Nothing mattered to Mickey but Ian and he planned on spending the rest of their lives showing him exactly that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is told from in a slightly weird format because trying to tell the entire story in great detail was really daunting. I think it works fairly well. The only downside is that a lot of the little moments have been lost. If anyone’s interested, I can always write more as well!


End file.
